My last mistake
by Pythonmelon
Summary: Dracula was a successful, powerful man. That is, until he died.


Before I ever met Mina Harker, before I even considered leaving my home in Romania for one in London, before jeopardizing my life, I was human. I was a respectable human in fact, but not without the occasional ill-intentioned move. I remember the last mistake like that I made all too well.

A party had just ended in my prominent Romanian home, the castle built in the early thirteen hundreds when my family came to this area of the country, my grandfather relinquishing his father's surname Tepes and becoming the first Dracula. We had flourished since then. Every man had beautiful women to his name and a single son. I had yet to wield a son but had three lovely wives. I had faith in them to bring a child to continue the family.

I bade the guests goodbye and went to relax by the warm fire, taking a nice deep breath. The castle was delightfully warm even though it was dead winter. The warmth of the people, the guests, had left the room like a Turkish bath. But soon I heard a knock on the door, and even though I was in the middle of savoring the last piece of some ginger cake since the women were cleaning I answered it myself.

There was a child at my door. He was shaking from the cold. I actually shivered myself. The wind was gusting directly against his bare back. There were bloody streaks across his back where he had undoubtedly been whipped. Mercilessly by the looks of it. Who would beat a boy that could be no more than ten years of age?! "S-sir…" He whimpered, as if fearing that he would once again be struck.

"That is 'Count', boy." I said. "Not a simple lowly sir." I admit I was a tad strict, but he must have been undisciplined if he had been whipped so harshly.

"Th-then Count, I am sorry." He bowed slightly submissively but gritted his teeth. I could not help but notice that they were pointed. As were his ears. But his surprising politeness for such a young child kept me distracted from them. He looked back at me through the dark with cold eyes rimmed with tears. "I have been exiled from my home. A creature- something, took me earlier tonight but when I returned I could not remember what happened. They are calling me a beast- I was whipped and sent out."

During his short but drawn-out tale I felt a growing frown. His situation was unfortunate but the boy was annoying. And of peasant blood, no doubt, if they were so quick to send him away after some mystery creature, something I supposed they had made up the way Baba Yaga had been, had kidnapped him for no more than a handful of hours after dark. He didn't even know what was going on. "What have you come here for, then? And in the middle of a snowstorm no less."

"I was wondering, si-Count." He caught his mistake instantly through quivering lips. "If I would be welcome to stay, just for tonight? I will be on my way as soon as I repay you."

This got me thinking. He wanted residence and to repay in any way I wanted? No, the tramp would probably run after expecting food and medical care as well as a warm bed. I couldn't let that happen. I had a name and reputation to uphold, even though no one would see it but I didn't want to seem soft in front of the women I loved. "How about." I suggested graciously. "You go get some kindling from the woodshed for my fire. For that I will give you this piece of cake." I motioned to the last piece of moist, sweet bread. "And for another load I will give you some flint to start a fire of your own with, and you may stay there for tonight."

His eyes came alight, though they still had a dead quality to them. This was apparently far better treatment than he had expected. "Thank you, my Count! I will be back with your load in just a second!" He ran back out into the knee-deep snow.

As he went I smiled slightly to myself. Licking my lips I took the last piece of cake and ate it in one sweet bite. I wasn't going to waste a rare treat on a stranger. I wasn't wasting valuable flint or kindling on him either, though he could still sleep in the woodshed if he wasn't afraid the rats would nip him in his sleep.

As he had promised the boy was back very fast. He was carrying a surprisingly heavy load of logs in his small arms. "Here you are, my Count." He bowed a little as I took the kindling from him. Then he noticed the empty plate. "You ate the cake?" He asked, a look of sad innocence invading his formerly happy eyes.

"Yes." I nodded. "And you will not be receiving the flint. You brought enough in one armful for the whole night. For that you may sleep in the woodshed as promised."

"But you said I could have the cake and a fire to sleep by!" He cried. "Surely I will freeze to death out there!" I continued to frown and plucked at my collar as he donned a look of hatred. A few more tears streaked his dirty face. "You can't be so heartless that you would let me die! I am not an abomination! I did nothing wrong!" His eyes, though I doubt he noticed, turned a furious red. I stepped back in fear. They had been right, he was poisoned by whatever creature had been lurking and caught him earlier. He was losing control. "I-I'm hungry, and I'm tired!" He said, a torrent of sadness and anger twisting his face. "I'm sore and hurt!" He bit his lip and drew blood, licking it up quickly. I watched in horror as the wound healed. Soon he had jumped upon me, holding my throat, and forced me down. "But most of all I'm thirsty." His voice suddenly became a sad, self-questioning whisper as he dipped his mouth towards my throat. I tried to force him off. What was this monster so thirsty for?!

I didn't have to ask aloud. The question was answered for me as the child, a poor, poor child when I think of him today, sank his teeth savagely into my throat. I was almost positive he had no sense of himself right then. It was an animal, not a former child, sucking my blood then. Instantly I resumed flailing. It only caused more pain and ripping of my flesh between his teeth. I coughed and choked and felt salty blood fly from my lips.

But just as I expected him to finish me off one of my three wives, having heard the commotion, came in and shrieked at the sight of me lying helpless beneath the vampire. The child looked up, eyes still glowing, and lept upon her. He also did this to the other women, but did not drink enough to kill any of us. He only took his fill and darted off into the darkness.

Clouds of dark swirled about my head. I tried to cry out but felt choked. I clutched at my chest, my barely beating heart. My eyes rolled and found the three women I loved lying in disheveled heaps. They all were groaning as I was, sharing my pain. But it was becoming so much worse and I couldn't look at them. My heart had stopped dead in my chest.

Shrieking again, all of us in a hellish harmony, I let the dark take me into caressing arms of sleep.

The next evening upon waking I paid no heed to the open door that had let in the snowstorm and wind, distinguishing the fire. I no longer needed its warmth. None of us did. The women, still trying to stand as I committed the feat of getting to my sore feet, held their heads in pain and confusion. Only I fully understood the magnitude of last night's events. We were now, to my understanding, the very same kind of monster as the one that had murdered us all because of my cruelty to the hurting child last night.

Without speaking to them I went to shut the door and swiftly went to start of building four coffins, one for each of us dead to sleep in. I would fill them with earth from our home's courtyard as our final resting places, as a vampire should. And I would not give up. The Dracula line would continue. I would have my son. I would utilize this newfound immortality. I would not fall into hiding as I assumed many cowardly vampires did.

I was Count Dracula, and the mistake I had made would not change that.


End file.
